


i want your crown

by leafygreenturtle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Dom Rhys, Dom/sub, F/M, Female receiving oral, Light Spanking, Male receiving oral, Maledom, Orgasm Control, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sub Rhys, Teasing, con smut, dom feyre, feysand, sub feyre, throne smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafygreenturtle/pseuds/leafygreenturtle
Summary: Feysand throne smut. Starts off with dom Feyre but then they switch and Rhys takes control.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 2
Kudos: 111





	i want your crown

The Court of Nightmares throne room that Feyre had been in just twice before was now deserted. It felt chillingly empty without the usual revelers in it, without any music or courtiers. But Rhys had sent them all away, and now they had the entire moonstone palace to themselves. 

Feyre walked the steps of the dais until she stood before the throne of black adamant. She could feel Rhys behind her, his presence an undeniable mass of power. She ran her finger idly along the arm of the throne, admiring. Their court. Their throne. 

She sat in the single throne, the movement as easy and graceful as silk. Rhys stared at her with amusement, but she only quirked a brow. 

“Do you require direction?” she asked. 

He was smiling like a cat. “Of course not.” He paused. “High Lady.”

Her skin flushed at that title. He knew how it affected her. Bastard. 

But Rhys dropped to his knees, graceful and smooth as ever, and looked up at her with a smile that was pure sin. He kissed her calf, making a trail up to her knee. 

Feyre closed her eyes at the small pleasure. He kissed the inside of her knee, licking and nipping there, and she felt her body grow warm and wet. 

She looked down at him, at the crown of midnight and stars he wore, and stopped him with a knee to his chest. He paused, and looked up at her. 

“I want a crown,” she said. 

“Of course, High Lady.” He snapped his fingers, and a gorgeous crown of night and stars appeared in his palm, the feminine twin to the one atop his head. Ordinarily, she would have trilled at it, but she shook her head with a faint smirk. 

“Not that. I want yours.” 

She watched the words settle in him, watched his eyes simmer with the challenge and the dominance, but after a moment, he used a flicker of his power to float the crown up to her. 

“Hmm,” she said, taking it in her hands and turning it over to gaze at it closely before placing it on her head. “Continue.” 

He did, with more fervor this time. She could feel his rock-hard erection against her leg, and she brushed up against it just so, drawing a groan from him. 

He slid two fingers over the slickness at the apex of her thighs, and made a low noise of desire. She pushed his closer to her with her legs, and he finally put his mouth on her. He licked and sucked the bundle of nerves there until she gasped and thrust her hips in his face and came. 

When her orgasm resided, she looked down at him, and the lower half of his face was drenched with her wetness. His eyes were dark with lust as he held her gaze and sucked on his slick fingers—tasting her. 

“Rhys,” she said, and that single word was a plea. 

He rose to his feet and towered over her, that insufferably arrogant grin on his face. 

“I think someone’s sitting in my throne,” he said, all wicked amusement and playfulness. 

Her throat had gone dry. But she managed to say, “That’s a terrible offense. I suppose you have to punish them.”

He used a flicker of his power to wrap around her leg, nudging her, and she rose from the throne. She blushed when she realized she’d left behind a wet spot on the marble seat. 

Rhys’s mouth quirked up slightly, and he said, “It seems like you’ve made a little mess.” He slid two fingers over the wetness on the seat and brought it to his lips. He held her gaze as he sucked on it, and Feyre’s eyes went hazy with lust.

Her lips parted as she watched him, and he couldn’t resist slipping his finger into her mouth. She closed her mouth around him, and groaned as she tasted herself on him. Rhys withdrew his finger with a soft groan, and pulled away.

He sat, and every corner and crevice of the room trembled with his power. It was all around her, thrumming with life. 

“Should I add that to your list of offenses?” he asked, his fingers dancing along the edge of the arm of the throne. 

“Yes, High Lord.” Her heart raced in her chest. 

“How should I punish you, Feyre?” he mused, and she fought not to shiver, especially when he misted her clothes without warning and she stood before him clad in nothing but her skin. 

“However you want to,” she said. 

She reached for her crown, to offer it back to him, but he clicked his tongue. “Leave it. I want it on you.”

Rhys crooked a finger at her, and she came closer, until she was close enough that he tugged her waist and pulled her onto his lap. 

The significance of this position didn’t escape her. All the memories of her first visit at the Court of Nightmares flooded her, right as Rhys ran an idle finger down her thigh. She squirmed restlessly, and he clicked his tongue. 

“Stay still,” he said. 

“Maybe I should send you to my shadowsinger,” he mused. “He can make you beg by the time he’s done with you.” 

Her blood went hot at the suggestion, the implication. She imagined Azriel’s beautiful face, the cold cruelty of it, the hilt of the dagger he always kept at his side. She wondered whether such a play scenario would involve him undressing. Or maybe it would be better if he was in his Illyrian leathers the whole time, with his sevon cobalt siphons. 

Rhys saw every image that passed through her mind, and he chuckled. “But maybe that wouldn’t be a punishment for you after all.”

She whimpered with need, and his fingers travelled lower than her core—to dangerous, uncharted territory. She stiffened instinctively when he probed the pucker of her ass. She trusted him, and she knew that one day she would, but she wasn’t ready now.

He knew, either through the bond or just by sensing her moods, her emotions, and his hand retreated, hooking onto the low-slung belt of her dress once more. 

“No? Maybe another time.”

“Please,” she said, right as he stroked over her wet folds. 

“Please what?” he asked, with endless patience. 

She squirmed helplessly again, desperately trying to grind on him. In answer, his magic bound her in place until she couldn’t so much as move her hips. 

“I told you not to move,” he said smoothly.

“Rhys,” she pleaded. 

His hands stroked her thighs, but it wasn’t enough. She was wetter than before, and desperate for release. 

“I want to touch you,” she said breathlessly.

Rhys nudged her off his lap and slid a hand on her shoulder to guide her to her knees. 

“Then touch me,” he said, and groaned when she undid the buckle of his pants and put her mouth on him. She sucked him off with fervor, trying to get him to finish quickly. She was desperate for the taste of him, the feel of him inside her. 

He pushed her off him when he was close, and panting slightly, he said, “Bend over the arm of the throne.”

She did, and he came up behind her, his hands on her waist, and nudged at her entrance. He kissed her spine, slowly, taking his time as if he could do this all day. She grew restless and began to squirm, as if she could direct his hands to where she wanted him most. 

Rhys slapped her ass, and said, “Don’t move.”

She only let out a deep moan. 

“Maybe your punishment should be not being allowed to come,” he said, right as he pressed against her core. 

She moaned, and tried desperately to move against him, to urge him inside her. 

Rhys spanked her again, hard, and she moaned again, longer and louder than before. 

“Tell me what you want, Feyre,” he said, rubbing soothingly over the spot he’d slapped. 

“You,” she gasped. “I want you.”

He pushed into her a little at that, and they both groaned now. But then he pulled out again, and asked, “Like this?”

When she didn’t answer, only panted and panted, he spanked her again. 

“Yes. I want you inside me,” she said, “Please. Rhys.”

“But I need to punish you first,” he purred. “Can you take ten spankings, Feyre?”

She groaned, “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said, and brought his down on her ass. He rubbed gently, and said, “Count for me. What was that?”

Feyre felt herself growing impossibly wet, and when she glanced beneath her, she saw herself dripping onto the floor. This drew another moan from her, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she said, “One.”

Rhys spanked her again, and again, and again, until her backside was raw and red. When he was done, he massaged it, soothing the sting and arousing her further. 

“Rhys,” Feyre begged. “Please.” She was so desperate for him inside her, she felt like she would go mad. Rhys finally obliged, gripped her hip and thrust hard. 

He plunged inside her and buried himself in to the hilt on the first thrust. She cried out, and begged him to give more, more, more, and he obliged.

“Don’t come,” he said. “Not until I say.”

She moaned, squeezing her eyes shut to keep her orgasm at bay, but nodded. Rhys did not make it easy. He fucked her hard and fast, and it was all she could do not to come. She tried to think about anything else, anything other than him inside her, but she was so close to the edge. 

“Rhys,” she pleaded. “Please, I can’t—”

“Hold it,” he ordered, then he came inside her. She screamed, the wave of pleasure so overwhelming, it felt impossible to fight it any longer. She could feel his pleasure through the bond as if it were her own, and she whimpered as she held back her own pleasure. It was only the pure command in his voice that allowed her to do so. 

And when Rhys slipped a hand down to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, she knew she could not hold it off much longer. 

He brushed that sensitive bundle of nerves, and she bucked her hips into his hand.

“Come for me,” he ordered, and she cried out as her pleasure finally swept over her. Rhys kept moving in her, even after his orgasm, drawing out her pleasure until she felt herself glowing bright as a star. 

Afterwards, they collapsed on the floor, and he kissed her. 

“Well,” he said amusedly, “This was fun.”

Feyre huffed a laugh. She was still tingling from that last orgasm, and felt the glow radiating under her skin. “How often can we order everyone out of the palace?”

“We’re their High Lord and Lady. We can do whatever we want.”

“What a terrible abuse of power,” she teased. He kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip. 

“Cruel, beautiful thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts/comments, or just drop in say hi at my tumblr @rhysandswhore


End file.
